


A Raven of Antiquity

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Ghosts, HP: EWE, Mystery, Neville is a Professor, Post-Hogwarts, Puzzles, Ravenclaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9150115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: or, The Many Feats of Neville Longbottom. Neville's life isn't what he had planned. It is much, much better. Well, minus a few details. Nothing a brand new Hogwarts mystery, a couple of new plant species, and an intriguing former Ravenclaw can't fix. Not epilogue compliant, DH spoilers.





	1. Karorrhaphophobia: The Story of Neville's Life

**Author's Note:**

> A weird, tame Nuna thing I wrote ages ago and am now moving here. The story is strange, and the chapter titles are stranger :) Enjoy?

_May 2, 1998- Battle of Hogwarts_

He stood on the steps for longer than he had meant. There was no denying that something had just changed. Just as everyone else standing in the castle in that moment, he could feel it in the air. The shift. The problem was that there had been too much destruction, so much dust and magic floating between them in the atmosphere, so much disruption of ancient wards and spells and architecture. The light was blinding, the silence louder than anything he had heard before. The result was the _feeling_ being rather non-descript. A shift, most certainly. But for good, or for evil? No one knew. In that moment, the world was blank, neither full of possibility nor utterly doomed. It was a very unsettling reality. Moments later, with Harry running frantically into the entranceway to announce that he was, in fact, alive, Neville had instantly wished for it back.

* * *

_Hogwarts, 2005_

He often thought of that moment, dreamed of it in full colour, waited for that feeling to ever resurface. He had never told anyone, since he was sure it sounded utterly mad, but he desperately wished for that feeling to return. The endless possibilities of that moment, the feeling that he could end up anywhere, as anyone, whether or not he ended up having control. The choices he had to make in life after that moment seemed to be what made his life so difficult. Still, he couldn't go back, and so he had gone forward, pitching forward like everyone else, running headlong into celebration and choices and futures.

Two years later, he had stood at graduation from the Auror program at the Ministry, stood between Harry and Ron as shiny badges were pinned to their chests, claiming they were ready to fight evil once more. Neville didn't really know how he had managed to fool everyone into thinking he wanted to run willingly into battle again and again, and quickly, the fact that he didn't showed through.

Even just acting as a border officer, recreating magic boundaries and maintaining the Secrecy Act, Neville felt that there was just a sliver of the lie inside him. Maybe he had been brave that day. Maybe he had been the person who had killed the fucking snake, which never seemed to get old in the eyes of the public. But even then, he had been Neville. Just Neville. He had actually just been following Harry's instructions. And sure, the speech had been a bit reckless- shouting in the face of a world destroyer had been slightly insane- but it was born mostly out of desperation. Out of the realization that he, quite literally, had nothing left to lose.

The lie was why he had collapsed his life. The feeling that he never actually fit in, never actually succeeded at commanding the level of respect Harry demanded with his very presence. The power Harry had always had, and always would have had, even without the fame. He also didn't have the same level of competency and dogged attitude that made Ron so successful at his detective gig. He wasn't those people. He was Neville. He had become a bit bolder over the years, and his confidence had shown outwardly, but he was still the quiet, nervous boy who really, really loved plants. These reasons, and a general hatred for dealing with the public, made him quit just two years into the job.

It may have been the same feeling of wrongness that made him announce to Hannah, 19 months to the day after their wedding, that he wanted to leave. He didn't know why, not really, and he felt like more of a fuckup, more of a coward, than he had ever felt before. But he knew, in his heart of hearts, that he wasn't _meant_ to be with Hannah. He loved her, he supposed, in a kind of fuzzy, muted way. And he didn't want her life to be in shambles, but she had the pub, and they didn't have kids, and he didn't know how staying when he already knew he was unhappy helped anyone. So he told her, and she hadn't even cried. She had instead looked down, and said, into the table, "I suspected something like this was coming. Thank you for being so honest, Neville, darling. Just promise me something? You need to be a bit more…in it for you, next time. Okay?"

He didn't plan on there being a 'next time', but he knew what she meant. That it was not his Gran's decision that he settle down, that he didn't have to marry someone just because they had been dating for a long while. He vowed to live, in general, a bit more 'in it for himself'.

Which is how he had ended up here.

He had stood, earlier this year, on those same steps, repaired and patched, but the same steps; cold, gray, solid beneath his feet. The ones where so much of his life had restarted, been made better. He had swallowed the bile that was building in his throat, the same familiar creeping anxiety that had always hit him when he stood on these steps, and he waited. He had meant to just go in, use his privileged position as professor to get someone to help him find his classroom, or find McGonagall and get to his quarters. But he found himself frozen on the steps.

Five minutes later, he hadn't yet moved when he heard from behind him a tinkling, loud, and beautifully familiar laugh.

"Looking for Nargles? Wise. Should never enter a building without figuring out what you are bringing in with you."

"Luna," he had turned toward her with tears of relief in his eyes, and had followed in a daze as she took him through the familiar halls, revealing the secrets of being on faculty instead of being a student. The hidden lounges and studies, the dining hall for teachers. The second library containing multitudes of immensely boring parchments about the school's history, maps of the entire grounds, autobiographies of the founders. Best of all, however, was his suite.

The place had seemed so distantly familiar, just four months ago, but he couldn't believe how quickly it had gone back to being 'home'.

He had always known the castle was deceptively large, but he found it wondrous and impossible that each professor really had the amount of space he appeared to have. Larger than either of his London flats, and possibly bigger than his Gran's house, the entire thing was really only three rooms. An anteroom that he supposed was meant to be a sitting room of sorts, for meeting with students or hosting guests. A lounge proper with a fireplace and the wrong sort of sofa (he had seen to that immediately, buying a large, squashy one that reminded him pleasantly of the Gryffindor common room, with matching chairs and a huge puffy table thing with a cushioned top that was evidently called an 'ottoman'). The lounge had a sort of bar kitchen shoved into the corner, where he put his kettle and not much else. The best bit, though, was the bathroom. The bathroom with a prefect tub. Although, he supposed, as an adult, he would have to stop thinking of it as 'a prefect tub', especially since it was _his._

This is where he sat now, immersed in a cascade of un-popping, vanilla-lavender scented bubbles. The tub, over the course of the months, seemed to have learned his preferences. Since he kept to a rather alarmingly tight schedule, the bath seemed to be ready every night at the exact time when he needed it to be ready. And he was not complaining. As he sank further into the perfectly warmed depths of the tub, he thought about what it meant that he was currently so content. When he had looked forward at his life when he was 18, there had been no glimpse of a return to his original plan to be Herbology professor at the school.

He had had lofty dreams then. Spend some time as an Auror, just enough to specialize as detective, go on to become a pathogen expert, maybe spend some time growing and splicing in his own lab, funded by the ministry to experiment as he wanted. The dreams of a child, sure, but not dreams he had planned on abandoning. Now, though, he realized how caught up in the drama of the war he had become. Sure, he had toughened up significantly over the years, and was no longer embarrassed to profess himself a Gryffindor, but it hardly had to mean his life had to be constantly exciting and action-packed. Harry, that was his life, still in the field, going home to Draco in their quiet house each night, but knowing he would return to running and moving and discovering the next day, never knowing what the future would bring. Ron, even, though more relaxed, thrived in the environment of the unknown. Neville, on the other hand, had never been happier than the moment Headmaster McGonagall handed him his first term schedule, detailing where and when he needed to be present, what he needed to accomplish, what his responsibilities were. He was _this_ person, not the one who had killed Nagini.

He woke up each morning, went down to breakfast with Luna and the others. Then he would head out to the greenhouse and spend the next four or five hours teaching various levels of Herbology to the house classes, smirking to himself when situations would remind him of his own school days. Whatever else the young thought of the old, the truth was that very little actually changed. Sure, the slang adjusted around the centuries, and the styles varied greatly, but the dramas and their root causes were identical, generation after generation.

When done his greenhouse classes, his favourite lessons of the day would begin. Each afternoon, for two hours, he taught the NEWT level Herbology and Botony courses; here, he allowed his missed opportunity of ministry-funded crafting loose, allowing the students to splice, play with dangerous species (within reason of course; no Hagrid level plants entered his classroom), and generally, learn by doing rather than reading. The classes were small and intensive, and he would guide the students through what may be on their exams without them even knowing they were being guided. One house per class also meant that he could tailor classes towards what would interest them; what had been happening in their house, where their house was in the castle, even what their houses tended to study more all became fuel for lesson adaptations. Neville loved these moments, thrived on the drive and passion, lived for the questions and arguments he had with NEWT students. He was, in these moments, a born teacher.

Neville found his routine refreshing, and he really didn't mind the monotony. Although, there were moments when he got bored. Definitely bored was the right word, and not 'desperately, incredibly lonely'. He would find himself wandering the halls at the weekends, aimlessly reading essays in random alcoves of the school, on an endless search for new places that he has never seen in the castle.

For example, the day the Luna Problem began, he had just discovered a new room up a short but surprisingly twisty set of stairs. The room was circular, like it was in a tower, but it wasn't, since it was in the wrong place entirely. It had a low ceiling and one window looking out toward the forest. It was very odd, but Neville instantly liked it. There were odd, stationary tapestries all over the walls, the floor had bizarre mosaic tiles along the edges, and there was only just room for the two old and dusty chairs that were shoved into a side. He had transfigured one of them into a table, and then spent more hours than he realized finishing his work. It was warm, which most of the castle was not, and it was so quiet that he forgot for a while where he was. The rest of the castle wasn't always loud, but it was hard to forget that there were hundreds of children, dozens of teachers, countless ghosts, Elves, portraits endlessly visiting and laughing and shouting. None of that seemed to reach these walls, and only the darkening shadows made him realize how late it had become.

He had turned in early, eaten in his suite, turned up the fire, and gone to bed.

When he woke up to an odd sound at 3 in the morning, he had simply turned over at first, and dozed. When the sound stopped suddenly, he figured he should at least investigate, lest he discover that Maguey the House Elf was stuck in his fire grate again.

What he found instead was Luna, curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. He stared at her for a moment, her already peaceful face resting silently, a softness in the firelight he had never seen before; the stern, wrinkled seriousness which was her normal expression was absent, and for the first time, he realized how much lightness had disappeared from her features. She looked like the Luna of their school days now. A slight smile, open to possibilities, not weighed down by obligations and her past. Shaking his head, he simply pulled a throw over her shoulders and went back to bed. When he woke the next day, she was gone, leaving him to believe he may have dreamed the whole thing.

Except that, for the next month, Luna would show up on his sofa every few nights, always disappearing before the morning, never quite managing to not wake him up. Especially since he started expecting the creak in his door, the padding of her feet on the rug, the sagging depth of the wonderful burgundy sofa.

He was perfectly willing to allow her to sleep there forever, never asking her for an explanation, perfectly satisfied to let it be; she obviously needed his sofa, and he didn't need to know why. She was his best friend. No questions asked. Even when, during breakfast one morning, he caught her looking at him, head tilted, in silent dare that he inquire.

They could have left it at that. He sort of wished it had stayed that way. He could handle the weird addition to his routine.

Instead, it became the Luna Problem.

The Wednesday when it began had been rather innocuous. Classes, some prep time spent in the mystery room, an evening Quidditch practice for extra duty, dinner in Hogsmeade with George, Dean and Seamus, then some reading by the fire. He had been reading _Hogwarts, A History_ attempting to discover the secrets he was missing. The Room was starting to confound him. He was pretty sure the tiles on the floor were moving, and there were, from his brief study, slight changes in the tapestries at the end of each week. He figured he would investigate first, then eventually, owl Hermione asking what she knew. He missed her long and rambling explanations, which had never caused him any irritation. He had fallen asleep with his lamp on, book by his face on his pillow.

When he woke up to the sound of footsteps, and glanced at his clock, it was only slightly past two in the morning, rather early for a Luna appearance. Still, he had simply rolled over, giving it no thought. At least, until half an hour later, when the screaming had begun.

He leapt out of bed and ran out into the lounge, wand already drawn, ready to kill whatever was attacking her; what he found nearly broke his heart. There was no attacker. There was no threat at all. There was simply Luna, thrashing and screaming on the couch, clearly panicked, and also, clearly still asleep.

Rushing over, he held her arms down from banging painfully on the table, murmuring comforting things as best he could, deciding whether or not he needed to wake her up. Holding her arms, however, seemed to stop her from thrashing, though she continued to shout illegibly at whatever was hurting her in her dreams. He got her to lie back down, patting her hair as gently as he could. The hair stroking seemed to calm her further, and he well and truly gave up when she burrowed and curled into his hand. Sighing, he gently inserted himself into the space beside her on the giant sofa, pulled the blanket over both of them, and continued to stroke her hair until he fell back asleep himself.

When he woke up three hours later, she was pressed into the curve of his hip, nestled and small, back to being seemingly untroubled by the world, her hair in his mouth. He should have gotten up, gone back to his own bed, but he had never been so warm in the castle, and he didn't want to wake her up. Instead, he curled even closer and drifted back to sleep. When he woke again, he was dismayed to discover she was gone again.

Leaving behind Neville. Neville Longbottom. Who was once again, for the second time in his life, realizing he was hopelessly in love with Luna Lovegood.

* * *

_KAKORRHAPHIOPHOBIA, the abnormal fear of failure_


	2. Operose: The Way Neville has always been

He didn't know what had happened the first time he had decided not to love Luna anymore. It hadn't really been a conscious choice. He hadn't ever really told her, despite kissing her twice, once in the post-battle chaos, and once before they all left the platform in London. He got busy, he never called. She was Luna, always off in another universe, and both of them living in separate cities was not a good thing for a burgeoning relationship. So one had just sort of never formed.

Then he'd started dating Hannah, and Luna would send maddeningly Luna-esque postcards from her various travel/research trips; 'don't try to feed narwhals, they only eat blue food' or 'maybe I should have purchased a new set of Dapperblimp detectors before I left London. If you see one, send it along!'. But nothing tangible, nothing more than Luna being Luna.

Then he had returned to the castle, and saw her here, in her element teaching Care of Magical Creatures, with a healthy mix of Magizoology added for good measure, and her talent for Alchemy shining when enough older students needed a professor. The students loved her, the faculty delighted in her slightly insane happiness, and no trace of the trouble she had had during school with other people seemed to remain. Much like himself, she had come into her own during the war and the years after, and the result was dazzling. He reveled in the reality that some people are just meant to become adults, and his endured life before this seemed so worthwhile in retrospect.

At first, he had assumed that his warmth towards her had been built of old affection, steadfast friendship, comfort and professional assistance. He had assumed that his desire for her had been fleeting, the fancy of a young man, and that he had moved on.

He had been wrong.

Neville wasn't even really surprised, since he had never exactly been the best at advocating for himself, at knowing his own feelings. Suddenly, all he could feel was her body flush against his, the smell and taste of her blueberry hair in his mouth. There was no way he was going to ignore this feeling again. He was going to tell her immediately.

If only he could freaking find her. It was now Friday, and Luna had been missing for two days, since the morning he had woken up alone, and once again freezing, on the sofa. He hadn't seen her at any meals, hadn't been able to catch her in the corridors, or even see her at the end of her classes. When he questioned their other friends, they all seemed confused, having seen Luna at regular intervals themselves. He finally decided that she was using notice-me-not, and that he was just going to have to wait for her to come to him. There was nothing he could do to force her hand, and he didn't want to, anyway. Despite the fact that he desperately wanted to apologize, wanted to explain that he hadn't meant to complicate everything, hadn't meant to pull a Longbottom and ruin their friendship for good. He needed her back in his life more than he needed her to love him back.

He turned his focus on the weird little room as an attempt at distraction. In the short time since he had found it, it had turned into a full blown fucking mystery. He was trying to be rational about the whole thing, tell himself that it was the castle, that the castle was ancient and weird, and that it wasn't the first time that things had become unnecessarily mysterious. Even after three years of using it and documenting everything he could about its history, he still had no clue how the Room of Requirement worked either; why would the Little Room be any different? He supposed he should come up with a better name for it, really. But everything he tried sounded equally stupid. The Self-Drawing-Tapestry Room? The Non-turret Turret Room? The Room of Continuously Changing Exterior Scenes? The Room Where The Tiles on the Floor Were Definitely Trying to Send a Message? Obviously, the Little Room was the best option, although all the events of the room itself were becoming more and more bizarre.

Even though he had originally just been using the room to grade or lesson plan, enjoying the silence and the warmth, Neville was a naturally observant individual, and the minute details of the room had etched themselves into his memory. Like the pattern of the centre of the floor; a bright red and orange sunburst, with a dark picture of a faded Eagle in the centre, clutching what looked like some sort of holly branch (a symbol, his brain supplied, for eternal life). The border tiles that encircled the room seemed, at first, to be a repeating pattern of small images, all Scottish or Celtic in nature. A thistle, a dragon, a salmon, a woven tree, a triquetra, and a raven (he suspected raven, at least, based on it's engraved, patterned beak).

He hadn't originally paid that much attention to the tapestries. They were all pretty innocuous, seeming to depict images of the grounds, the lake, the edge of the forest, the gates. Things he didn't pay attention to in real life, and so, didn't really care that they were suddenly in stitched art form.

He hadn't really cared about any of these details, in fact, until they had started to change. At first, it seemed that only the tiles were changing, and even this change was quite subtle and not all that alarming. After all, nothing in the castle really stayed the same. He had shrugged it off as a weird Hogwarts quirk. The tiles seemed to just be reorganizing themselves in various versions of the original pattern, sometimes shuffling so there was a clear pattern, sometimes aligning themselves so that each wall contained only one image. Neville absently sketched them out each day, but never really thought about it.

On the third day of not seeing Luna, however, he began noticing the tapestries as well, and they were far more disturbing. More correctly, he notices that the tapestries are being redrawn to include aspects of the current events of the castle.

"Re-stitched."

"Hm?" Neville was distractedly trying to simultaneously flip through _Hogwarts, A History_ , listen to Hermione-whose living room he was sitting in- and ignore the nagging whine of Hugo, who was crying away in his cot and being intentionally ignored. There was nothing he found more complicated than the life Hermione lived. She worked full time when not home with infants, kept Ron in line, kept the house impeccable, and sat on three or four different boards at both the ministry and Hogwarts. It made him tired just sitting here.

"Neville. You came to ask me to figure this out. I should think you could at least listen."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm…distracted."

"Yes. And not by the room you're here about, if I know you at all. Neville, just talk to her."

"Yes. Well. A discussion for another time. Besides, _she_ is avoiding _me_ , not the other way around."

"Very well. I guess I can drop it for now. In that case, I said they are re-stitching themselves, strictly speaking, since they weren't drawn in the first place. Although, frankly… Nev, darling, don't you think this is rather a pointless obsession? Hogwarts is Hogwarts. The day it stops surprising you will be the day hippogriffs take up mah-jong. Moving things, changing tapestries…charmed windows even. None of it is even out of the ordinary. I think maybe you are reading into-"

"I'm not obsessed Hermione. I only found it a few weeks ago. I'm just…curious. Most of the other weird things about the castle are at least mentioned somewhere. I've never come across anything about this room. Have you?"

"No. And I also know you aren't going to find anything in there. You are a professor now, though. What I wouldn't give to spend a few hours in the annex with all those manuscripts. You should go look at the hand-written version of _A History_. Maybe it will have more details."

"Not a bad idea. I just…want to know more. You know?"

Hermione just laughed, "I think I understand wanting to know more."

"I can talk to McGonagall, you know. See if you can come to the library with me one day."

"That'd be amazing, mate. Go. You'll be late for class."

\- 0oo0o0oo0-

That night, exhausted from reading too much, Neville pulled his box of old records out from their hiding place beneath his bed. Gently slotting his favourite, The Best of Van Morrison, into the ancient baby blue record player he had stashed on the mantle, he lay down in his living room. The recording was scratchy and skipped frequently. He had played it far too many times, and it would be easy to get another copy. But he would never, even if it broke. The records and the player were some of the only things he owned that had been his father's.

As 'Days Like This' starts, he sings along without hesitation, loudly and off-key, allowing all his frustration and confusion out in the words, gesticulating wildly during the trumpet interludes;

_"When everyone is up front and they're not playing tricks._

_When you don't have no freeloaders out to get their kicks._

_When it's nobody's business the way that you want to live._

_I just have to remember there'll be days like this."_

The day everyone was upfront. _Fat chance_ , Neville thought. He had always loved this song more than most. Technically, he supposed, it was about good days. A Day Like This, he reasoned, was probably of the excellent, first-rate variety. But he never remembered to listen to it when he was in a good mood. Van Morrison was heartbreak, doldrums, down-on-your-luck music; the mournful croon kept him above the surface when his life had him flailing and drowning. He was turning the record over to play 'Cleaning Windows' when he heard a knock at his door. He had just taken the needle off to reply when the door opened on its own.

"Neville? Are you in?"

"Luna," he breathed from his chair. Hearing her voice so close made his heart give a small shudder of approval, and he steeled himself against the fact that he really did need to just ask her.

She stood there, swathed in a green, frilly, gauzy thing that he supposed was really her table runner or some such, and waited. He was now standing awkwardly, however, blocking the door between the anteroom and his suite. He blushed, and stood aside, asking "doyouwantsometea?" all in one breath. She shook her head, and moved inside.

"Neville. I came to- I just wanted to apologize. For that night. I didn't mean-"

"Luna, you shouldn't be apologizing, it wasn't-"

"Neville, please. You have to let me finish. It…I need to finish explaining."

When he simply blushed again, looked at the floor, and nodded, she continued,

"Neville, I never should have taken advantage of you like that. It was wrong. Now you know why I kept ending up on your sofa. I have turned into something of a coward, I'm afraid. It's night terrors, you see. Night phantasmagoria, my father always used to say…but it's really just nightmares. Most of the time, I roll over and go back to sleep. But they've been getting worse. I don't sleep much anymore. That first night, though, I just felt like if someone else….if someone was there. Anyway, I shouldn't have come in without even asking, but I was so tired, and I always know your password. And then I slept so well that night. I just knew you were there, I could hear your breathing, and it made me feel less like I was…all alone, I guess? Still, I shouldn't have kept coming, it wasn't fair, and then the other night, you had to hear, you had to see me like that, and then…"

"And then I made it a bigger thing, even harder. Luna, it really is my fault. I couldn't just leave things alone. I saw that you needed me to leave it alone, and I didn't."

"Neville. Oh Neville Longbottom, you great, ridiculous man. It has nothing to do with you. None of this is your fault. I took advantage of you, and I am sorry. I am here to apologize, that is all. I won't be in your rooms again anytime soon. You can change your password, I won't ask you for it again, and that will be…better. I can't keep coming here. Not when I know…"

She stopped suddenly and looked away from his face, which hurt more than was really healthy, and he admonished himself for getting his hopes up.

"When you know what Luna?" Neville stood, moved towards her, but couldn't seem bring himself to close the gap. Something about the way she stood, fragile and pleading, that made him think that it would be a mistake.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Luna," Neville unintentionally stepped in front of the door, blocking her exit. She looked up at him with those same, crystal blue eyes, the same sternly confusing expression that she had always had, daring him to defy her. Daring him to try and stop her. But his time, he wasn't giving up that easily.

"Neville. Please."

Two words, and his resolve withered. He had never felt imposing or powerful. He didn't want her to stay if she didn't want to, even if her leaving was possibly the worst case scenario at this moment.

"Where have you been, Luna? I haven't even told you about the little room." He was barely speaking, his whisper was so low, and he hadn't looked her in the eye since she had said please. Now, she reached across the gap, touched his sleeve, forcing his eyes to snap back to her face.

"Sorry, Nev. Will you tell me now?"

Neville let out a sigh of relief, nodded, and sat back down in his chair, reaching over to set the needle back on the player, smiling to himself as Luna nodded her approval and sat down on what Neville thought of as 'her' end of the couch, and told her everything she had missed in the last three days. Regardless of what else he wanted from her, he was truly and completely relieved to have his best friend back, even if now, there was a fuzzy kind of spark in the air, a discomfort that he didn't want to acknowledge, something he wasn't sure she knew was there.

As he explained the story to her, trying to make it more exciting than it probably was, Luna's eyes locked on him, and her mouth fell open in surprise. He had barely finished explaining the 're-stitching tapestries' when she put a hand to her mouth.

"Neville. Neville Frank Longbottom. I always forget that you weren't a Ravenclaw. You have no idea what you've done."

Biting down panic, he mouthed rather than spoke, "What?"

"I think you may have uncovered the secret chamber of Rowena Ravenclaw."

* * *

_Operose- involving or displaying much industry or effort._


	3. Cacoethes, And What Neville Has To Show For It

Neville was honestly unimpressed that he had managed to find himself adventure again. How was it possible that he was not allowed to just live the life of a boring, old professor? The kind that students never gossiped about because it was clear that his life was _really and actually_ very dull? Luna had seemed extremely excited, however, and he had attempted to feign interest. After making her talk about everything she knew until she refused to continue speaking, begging him to let her go to bed (in her own chamber, despite his arguments that she could stay if she needed), she brought him every book she had that had been written about Rowena Ravenclaw. Most of them were pretty dull, if he was honest. He had never really been a big history buff, preferring reports on new inventions, science and discovery, but he diligently read everything, sitting in the warmth of the Little Room.

Rowena had had a relatively tragic life, he supposed. If he had felt the need to care, he might have pitied her. A woman far beyond her time, she had been given away at the age of 15 to a man three times her age. In her biography, Bagshot claimed that she was often beaten for disagreeing with her husband, a foolish man who would have squandered all his fortune on poor decisions. Instead of being defeated, however, Rowena secretly fixed the deals her husband made, and grew his merchant trade, so that when he died when she was just 20, leaving her pregnant and alone, she became the wealthiest widow the Wizarding world had ever seen. It was at this time that she had spread her knowledge into the business world around her, and made contact with those who would become her co-founders. She gave birth to Helena alone, raised her alone, and was understandably heartbroken when that same daughter had disappeared with a possession she thought would bring her glory. If Bathilda was to be believed, Rowena hadn't actually cared all that much about the Diadem, an artifact that had never been much use to her personally, but instead, mourned the loss of contact with her daughter.

When he finished the biographies, Neville felt no closer to understanding what Luna was so excited about. He knew, of course, that most of the founders had created multiple parts of the magic that imbued every aspect of the castle; the chamber, of course, was Slytherin. Hidden astronomy towers only to be found by those who understood divination at it's very core were placed by Hufflepuff. The Room of Requirement was widely believed to have been created by Godric Gryffindor as a way to practice arts like dueling in secret. It was also known that Ravenclaw was responsible for the ever-changing floorplan of the castle, and the very location of the castle itself. He supposed it wasn't irrational for the Little Room to simply be a part of that wider "the staircases move" thing.

Three days of reading about Ravenclaw (and slowly falling hopelessly behind in his pre-NEWT practice paper marking), Neville was about ready to go with Hermione's initial 'forget it' reaction. He was tired, he was slightly annoyed at himself for not being brave enough to deal with the Luna situation, and he was sick of sitting up at night worrying that she was not okay, that she was in her rooms, screaming and scared and alone. It well and truly sucked. He didn't feel like thinking about Rowena as well.

And so, on a Friday evening, Neville trekked up the three floors, down the two corridors, and up the narrow flight of stairs with the intention of completely clear his things out of the Little Room, and leaving it behind. He was just going to leave it. He was going to walk away from it all. He opened the door with too much force, full of angst and fury….and walked straight into a floating tapestry.

This 'tapestry' was more like a banner, in width and length, but there was no mistaking it for what it was. A scene at the bottom depicted what could only be the room itself; it was complete with window, tiled floor, and small chairs and table. But Neville didn't spend much time looking at the scene. He was far more focused on the scrawled, glowing, midnight-blue poem that sat above it:

_They say seek, and you shall find,_

_But what, they do not say._

_Thus, what if the secrets you unwind,_

_Into your nightmares play?_

_Yet you, oh great adventurer, seek you someday would._

_And so, our quest lies there upon the window pane._

_Choose well, and all that follows will be soaked in golden good,_

_Choose wrong, the hero fails, and nothing shall remain._

Neville had been on his fair share of adventures. And he knew exactly what he was about to do. That knowledge didn't, however, quell the shame he felt deep inside his soul as he slowly backed out of the room, closed the door, and reversed his path, never stopping until he was back on his couch, unspeaking, with Cat Stevens playing softly behind his head.

This is how Luna found him hours later, when she came to see why he had missed his afternoon NEWT Botany class, as well as dinner. She didn't say a word when she saw him. She just squished herself into the end of the couch and sat her hand on his foot.

He looked at her.

"What happened?" she whispered finally.

But he didn't tell her. He couldn't. She sat there, in her formal teaching cloak, a sensible shade of Ravenclaw blue, her hair flowing long down her back, looking concerned. And he suddenly could not stand it. He sat up, and before he could talk himself out of it, kissed her for the third time in his life. He refused to close his eyes. He wanted to register if there was shock or disgust on her face; but he saw none there. Instead, what he found was an emotion he clearly understood. Resignation. Luna had been waiting for this.

He braced himself for her pushing him away, for her to explain that even if she had found him interesting once, they were adults now. He knew, he felt, that it was coming. She would pull away, explain that _this_ is why she had walked away in the first place, and leave. So he waited full of pain and fear, his lips pressed to hers, for what felt like a decade.

Instead, however, Luna kissed him back. She opened her mouth, and pushed her tongue against his lips. She gasped and pulled him closer when he responded with his own open mouth. She wrapped hands around his neck and torso, pushed him back against the couch. She desperately tore at shirt and vest until he felt hot skin beneath, his back muscles, such as they were, straining against the effort of holding them up. Until she raked her fingers up his spine, and he wasn't holding them up anymore. Instead, he was gasping too, trying to find a way around her cloak. He unravelled, his heart would not calm down, he wasn't sure he was breathing at all.

Then all at once, she did pull away, muttered something like 'late' and 'go'. And his brain clicked back on, his inner voice a desperate plea to fix it before it was too late.

"Luna," he rasped, barely recognizing his own voice for all the roughness and need it contained.

"Stay."

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes nearing tears, breaking his heart.

Then she nodded.

He wasted no time standing up, pulling her back to him, and leaving the couch behind.

\- XXxxxXXX -

When he woke up, two thoughts simultaneously crossed his mind. The first was welcome. Warmth and comfort and rightness against his hip. The knowledge, absolutely and completely, that he had no regrets about any of what had happened. He hadn't felt this calm in years, hadn't felt this sure of anything, probably ever. This thought made him feel like he had drunk six butterbeer in quick succession and become a hopeless romantic. It was the kind of feeling that he got when he danced. The kind of feeling that made the lads rib him endlessly in good natured, yet painful, insults. He had missed the feeling. He curled further into the source of warmth which, miraculously, was still in his bed, wrapped in his sheets and nothing else, head barely touching the pillow, curled instead on his rapidly numbing arm. He would have been happy with this thought alone. Because the second thought was a bucket of cold, wet fish.

It was Hannah's birthday.

There are certain days that become significant in your life, usually without your express permission. Birthdays, anniversaries, days of firsts, days of loss. He didn't really want to feel like this was the moment everything changed, but he did. He of course realized not to bring it up, not now, but it sort of sucked to remember. He had still been with Hannah at her last birthday. It had been a Saturday last year. They had spent the morning languidly in bed, until propriety and the phone had forced them to get up. He had bought her an expensive bracelet she hadn't really liked, and found her a new cacti that turned different colours depending on the temperature, which she had. It had been a good day, a diner with malted shakes and friends. No foreshadowing, no real unhappiness. It was an odd feeling, looking back now.

He refused to think about it. Not now. Let future Neville deal with that. For now, it was Saturday, it was early - so early that the enchanted ceiling in his room only showed vague hints of sun in the distance-and Luna was in his bed. He was going to go back to sleep.

He would deal with pasts and Ravenclaws, in all their forms and instances, later.

Much later.

* * *

_Cacoethes-_ _an irresistible urge to do something inadvisable._


	4. Inveiglement: Where things fall apart.

When he woke up a second time, it was to the smell of bacon. He turned his head towards the smell, and was treated to crystal blue eyes, a wide, unyielding smile, and the proffering of tea. There was a soft light creeping in from rarely-seen Scottish winter sun, and the blue sky, and he was still warm.

He could get used to waking up like this.

"Morning, you. Thought you'd sleep all day."

"Why? What time is it?" Neville couldn't help the smile that stretched its way across his face, feeling bold and foreign and impossible.

"Almost half ten. I'm on my third cup, myself. I finished your crossword. And now I'm re-reading the parts of History that might help us."

"You stayed."

"You said stay."

They looked at each other for a moment, before Luna blushed and looked away. They sat in silence for a long moment before trying to speak at once.

"Do you wish-"

"Would you have-"

Neville gestured to Luna. She took a visible breath before finishing, "that I hadn't?"

Neville grinned again.

"I was about to ask you the same. For the record, though, I am so very glad you did. I should really tell you-"

"Neville, please. Not yet. I know. At least, I think I do. But just, don't say it. Please?"

He nodded and sipped his tea, snuggling back slightly into warm sheets. He nodded towards the book.

"Find anything useful?"

"Sort of."

Luna, without hesitation, moved toward him and snuck her head back under his arm, pressing firmly against his chest and resting on his non-tea-holding arm. He instinctively curled into her, resting his hand in her hair, idly playing with strands. It was odd, being this intimate, this close and comfortable. He wasn't that guy. The guy that knew the right move, the right words, who instinctively didn't screw everything up. But Luna. It was her. She had never laughed at him, never made him feel uncomfortable. Had always made him feel safe and real, and important. He already knew how to be himself around her, because he always had been. These things she was doing, they were just less-clothed versions of the closeness they already experienced. He was just allowing himself to touch her when a thousand times he had resisted, closing the gap when a thousand times he had made his feet stay firmly in place. It felt…right.

"See here? It says that Ravenclaw was fond of riddles. I think we've worked that out, haven't we? But she also hated violence. So I feel like the riddles won't be like they would be if it had been Gryffindor. She isn't testing your bravery. She's testing your wit. Your intelligence. The hints I've always heard say that the room contains all the secrets of the castle. We just have to find the end of the puzzle. I think we could solve it together."

"I've been thinking, though. I mean. Okay. Hear me out. I just…Luna."

"Nev, what?"

"I don't want to. I don't want to do anything. I want to just walk away. I want to just ignore it all. It's pathetic. It's…If anyone from school heard me talking, they'd re-sort me. Or kick me out. Or beat me up. And still. I can't help it, Luna. I just want to live my boring little life. I want to teach my classes and play with plants. And eat too much treacle tart with professor Flitwick at the Broomsticks. I want, well, you, really, but I'm guessing you figured that one out. I want to be too cold in this bleeding castle, and teach duelling to fifth years. I want to listen to stories round Harry and Draco's, and be absolutely unable to relate. And then this stupid castle seems incapable of being boring and old and normal. Do I….do I really have to solve the mystery?"

Luna looked at him, a small, daft smile on her face, and listened quietly through this entire whispered, frenzied speech. Then, she tilted her head up, put the book down, and kissed him, slowly and lazily, not bothering to reach up to him, not really moving at all, and for a second, he almost believed she was going to drop it.

"No, darling. You don't have to do anything. You are an adult. You are allowed to make your own choices. When are you going to start believing that?"

"You seem awfully calm. This is your house mystery I am refusing to solve."

"Hmm." Her lips were back on his, making it difficult for her to actually respond immediately. "Well, I suppose that's because I know you. You are a Gryffindor."

"And?"

"And you're going to solve the mystery."

-XxXxxXxxXxXXxx-

They didn't move for a good long while that day, and when they did, it wasn't exactly to get up and be productive. Deciding that they didn't need to make an appearance in the dining hall, they walked, hand-in-hand, outside the walls until they could apparate to Hermione and Ron's flat. Where three more people attempted to convince him to solve the mystery.

Finally, it was decided that Harry would be enlisted to help, and before he could stop it, an owl was dispatched.

When Harry showed up at a quarter to three the next day, the smirk on his face pissed Neville off immediately.

"Oh lay off it."

"Well, I can't help it. I always knew you crazy kids would get together. George tried to convince me I'd been wrong when you married Hannah, but-"

"Shut it. How do you even know, anyway?"

Harry just shrugged.

"I am never telling Hermione anything ever again."

"A wise life-decision, really. Girl cannot keep a secret. So, let's see this 'Little Room', shall we. I've promised I will thoroughly investigate. Official Auror business, you know." Harry's face was full of ridiculous impishness that was a relatively new addition to his emotional arsenal, and was definitely the result of a certain blonde's impact on his life. It was sort of out of place, but not entirely unwelcome. It brought with it a joviality and a lightness that had never been Harry's strong suit. Even when happy, Neville thought back, he had always seemed a little bit like he shouldn't be enjoying himself, like his serious side should return for the sake of humanity. Joking and being pithy were welcome changes.

"Don't show off just because McGonagall is letting you stay the night because it's 'official business'. You know she's always had a soft spot for you. If I were a betting man, I'd put money on the reason why-"

"Oh, Neville. You always were jealous of ol' McGonagall's love."

Neville just laughed, and managed to convince Harry to have lunch before traipsing off on adventure. Once he had taken everyone on an extensive tour of the rebuilt castle, boring Harry with talk of plants and germination, he decided he couldn't delay the inevitable any longer.

Standing in the room, Harry and Luna seemed to be speaking in code.

"Seems like a charm, but like-"

"Really intricate. I think there is a tempus-"

"Ya, but, a tempus connected to what? Seasons? It would have been changing-"

"All the time. I know. But we don't know that it hasn't. We don't know if anyone else has ever found it."

"Merlin, you're right. It could have been the same poem for years, waiting for a call. Which would mean-"

"Yup."

"OH DEAR LORD," Neville finally shouted. "EXPLAIN."

"Sorry, Nev. Have you, you know, looked at the window pane?" Harry asked with a smirk.

Neville paused for a moment. Then burst into hysterical laughter. He laughed and laughed, until both his friends were looking at him like he'd gone mad.

"I've been here three times. Luna and I have been here twice more. I've come in here to read that frigging tapestry half a dozen times, and I haven't even looked at the window pane. This is why you are still an Auror, and I'm not."

"I'm pretty sure," Luna put in quietly, in her standard light tone. "That leaving Auroring had more to do with the job's distinct lack of repotting mandrakes than anything." 

Harry looked at her and laughed, "Well. Shall we look?"

Gathered around the window pane, the three of them looked down and back up, seemingly in cartoon formation, reading and re-reading the clue that was in front of them.

"What?" Harry finally said.

In front of them was a single arrow, and a single frame of window remained. The frame showed only the sole oak tree that stood beside the lake. Never mind that they all knew this end of the castle did not actually face the lake. And the only word that made up the entire clue was:

LOOK.

Having followed the only logical course of action, the three of them now found themselves staring at words in the old oak tree that had definitely never been there before.

"Are we sure this wasn't always here?"

"Positive. I know this tree." Said Harry gravely. "This is where…quite a lot happened."

"Like what?" Neville said, trying to hide his amusement.

"You know what."

"Yes, but Luna doesn't, and not telling her would just be rude."

Harry turned to Luna, who was wearing a convincing mask of innocence that didn't fool Neville for a second.

"This is where I turned Draco into a ferret. Well, not me. Moody. Or not-Moody. Or whatever. Anyway, it happened. Fourth year. It sort of led to…well, everything."

"By everything, do you mean 'sleeping with, living with, basically-being-old-married-couple with' everything?" Luna asked, no longer masking her amusement.

"Yes. But we are definitely not getting distracted by that story right now. We need to solve this."

"I'll tell you later." Neville said, resting a hand gently on her side.

Luna looked at him, and something dark and delicious passed through her face, briefly, fleetingly, and it made Neville's brain (and…other things) jump in interest. "You'd better."

"Okay, one more time Harry." Neville closed his eyes and listened as Harry read;

_The quest, till this moment, was simple and fun,_

_But the path you take now is only for one._

_The starter, the expert, the one who is true,_

_Who continues from here is all up to you._

_Danger may lurk at the end of this place,_

_Or simply a puzzle requiring haste._

_Perhaps it is best if the one who goes on,_

_Is the one who fares well with both the brain and the brawn._

_The fighter is hasty,_

_The thinker is pensive._

_The one who will win must be_

_COMPREHENSIVE._

"Library. Something in the library. Comprehensive. That's the clue. It's me. I have to be the one to go on. I always fucking knew it would be. But you had to talk me into it, didn't you. Merlin save me from my friends."

Neville tried to look harshly at his former roommate and his current…what? Lover? He tried to be angry and annoyed, tried to regain that feeling of contempt for adventure he had been feeling less than half an hour earlier. Instead, though, his face kept finding itself full of lightness, full of mischief. Because despite his best intentions, he was a Gryffindor. Regardless of what else happened, how content he thought he was, he was built for intrigue.

And, he cursed to himself, he was beginning to feel that most dreaded of emotions.

Excitement.

"Come on," he finally clipped. "I need more tea. I'm freezing."

* * *

_Inveiglement: entice, lure, or ensnare by flattery or artful talk or inducements._


	5. Ambuscade: And the Excuse for an Escape

Two days later, he felt like an absolute idiot when he decided to move, decided to follow the riddle. Luna had talked him out of being rash, so he had waited. Yet, that night, he'd gotten restless.

When Neville arrived at the library in the middle of the night, having snuck out of bed as quietly as possible, he went straight to the restricted section. He couldn't exactly say why. He felt like there was an invisible string tugging him forward. It was like the time he had found the sword. He just _knew_ that it was right.

He stood in front of the wooden half wall that separated the two halves of the library. He had never actually been back here during school. It had never been necessary. Hermione and Harry had, he knew; they were always talking loudly enough in the common room that everyone knew what the Golden Trio had been doing about ninety percent of the time. It was just that no one cared. Broken rules were a Gryffindor rite of passage. It didn't matter now, of course, being both of age and a permanent professor. Still. It felt illicit and wrong.

He took a deep breath and opened the gate. He looked around him and then led himself to the far left corner. A single, shimmering word was etched into the shelf.

_Open._

Such a simple instruction, and it seemed absolutely ridiculous. Again, not really knowing how he knew what to do, he pushed the book where the letter _n_ was hovering back into the shelf. A subtle click, and the shelf kicked forward. Neville laughed out loud.

"Seriously? A secret passage behind the forbidden bookshelf? A little obvious, don't you think Rowena."

Suddenly, in the darkness, he heard a light, tinkling laugh.

_Where do you think the trope started? I invented the 'room behind the bookshelf' thing._

Neville looked all around him. He was definitely going crazy. That was the only explanation for his response to a disembodied voice in the middle of the library, in the middle of the night.

"…Rowena?" he muttered, feeling stupid, but at the same time,  _knowing_ it was the right assumption.

_The same. So, they sent the Gryffindor. I am a bit surprised. Though, I always did think the line between our houses was a blurry one at best, at least according to the sorting hat. Enchanted clothing can only decide so much._

"I…Merlin, why am I answering this voice. I am Neville. Longbottom. Can you tell me what I'm doing here?"

_No. But, you solved the riddles. You came here alone. Surely you can work out the rest._

"No offence, Rowena, but the riddles…well, they weren't actually difficult? You know that, right?"

_Mmm. An interesting perspective, Master Longbottom. They were not difficult. Yet, they required **you**_ _at every turn. The annex has existed since the castle's beginning, yet you are the first to have found it. That tree has been there for a hundred and twenty three years, yet no one has managed to see what is right in front of them. You are the only one. So yes, the riddles were not difficult. But people always ignore their intelligence, the makeup of it. We are our experiences, dear boy. We are built by who we have been, and the choices we make._

"You…you chose me. You helped me find that room. What do you need?"

_Very good. Yes, I helped you find me. I have been waiting for someone worthy enough. You returned to a place you had left. You are full of pain and fear, yet you are happy. I watched you. You became happy, being here. Yet, there is so much pain. You are perfect._

"Perfect…for what? What is it that I need to do?"

_I can't tell you._

"So, you expect me to walk into the darkness of a hidden passage, in a castle that has tried to kill me and my friends for many years, to follow a disembodied voice, on a 'quest' with no definition and with no hints?"

_Yes._

"And why would I do this?"

_Because. Gryffindor?_

Neville laughed. "Well. Alright then. _Lumos._ "

He inched forward into the darkness and found a staircase, short but narrow and tightly wound. A cold feeling of fear tried it's best to situate itself right behind his chest cavity. He swallowed once, and continued.

"I am sorry, Madame Ravenclaw. I…well, if the stories about your life are true, I am sorry."

_Nonsense, dear boy. My life was exactly what I intended it to be. My husband…well, he may have been an idiot, but at least he had the decency to be rich and die young. The business with Helena was- well, unfortunate, but she was as foolish as her father, so I almost suspected it. I think, in the end, we are all meant to be alone._

"Forgive me if I disagree, Ma'am."

_You should call me Rowena. I think it will become appropriate._

As Neville continued down the dark corridor in which he now stood, the feeling of roundness continued. He realized why a short time later, but couldn't quite place why it may be important.

"We're beneath the little room, aren't we? Why is it round? It isn't near a tower."

_Cleverer and cleverer. Yes. And no, there is no tower here._

"It is round because?"

When he got no answer, Neville merely sighed and walked forward. The creaking that had persisted since he had opened the door continued, but the hallway started to narrow. It was subtle at first, and without extensive Auror training, one might have missed it completely. But narrower was definitely what was going on. Neville didn't like it, and he started walking slower.

_Mr. Longbottom. What is your life's true ambition? Do you have one? Everyone must have an ambition._

"Well...hm. I'm not really sure _I_ do. I would like to continue being happy, I suppose, but I'm not really the sort who likes the challenges and things like that. I've sort of had a lifetime of things happening to me and around me, and I'd sort of like to just…live quietly from now on. I think that's something, but I doubt if it's what you meant."

_I had an ambition once. Can you guess?_

Neville had reached what appeared to be the end of the hallway, with no indication of any turns or gaps in where he should go next. He turned back around, in time to see the ghostly apparition that he now realized had been the source of the creaking the entire time.

Rowena Ravenclaw, in death at least, was a very small woman. She had slight shoulders, long dark hair, and a tiny nose. In fact, in the gloom, she seemed to be almost a foot shorter than Neville, even floating several inches off the ground as she was.

"What was your ambition, Rowena."

"Well, my dear boy, it's kind of you to ask. I simply wanted to be the most important witch in history."

"That's a lofty goal. Did you succeed?"

"Oh, I don't know. You all know my name, don't you? By what do we gage importance? Is it infamy? Or influence? In both these I have succeeded. Although, it is ghastly unfair that I don't get to enjoy my reward. Oh, dear Gryffindor's child. You are so brave. And so foolish. I have waited for decades for just the right combination of those two things. It has been ever so long."

Rowena lifted her hands above her head, and suddenly the small space was filled with a bizarre and uncomfortable form of light, carrying with it information of his surroundings that Neville instantly wished he didn't have. In front of him, he now saw the wall of bars creating a squared off room, a gate waiting to swing closed. To his left he found a bed and a small table, to his right a small and very old fashioned lavatory. It looked awfully like a cell; one that had not been used in a very, very long time.

"Rowena…"

But, before he could continue, he found his legs frozen, his wrists bound on either side. His wand dropped uselessly to his feet.

"Of course, now that you are here, the curse will be appeased, and I am free to roam once more. It is a pity that it has to be you. You seem so…simple. Not overly brilliant, mind, but kind. Perhaps I will come trade places with you once a century or so. Just so you can get some air."

"Rowena, I don't understand."

"Oh, Longbottom, come. Don't be _imprecise_. It is beneath you. You _do_ understand. You are just afraid. Piece it together now, child. Tell me what you know. You are standing in?"

"The lost chamber of Ravenclaw."

"Correct. And what do you know about the other chambers in the castle, the ones of the other founders?"

"They are all hidden."

"Indeed. They are, in fact, all dungeons. Prisons of a sort. This is the keep. Not a real one, not truly. It was a joke, initially. But it turned around on me and became my founder's chamber. They are all the same, all four. They are a last resort. A way to return to the old ways. Meant to keep things _in._  Last of all, what do you know of my death."

"You were...ill. Helena…"

"Yes. I thought the story she would spread would be of an untimely illness. Probably claimed her betrayal had killed me." Rowena sighed the sigh of the deeply disappointed, "Silly girl always did think herself a great deal more important than she actually was. Tell me; does anyone know exactly _when_ I died?"

"I.…I don't know, truthfully."

"That is because no one does. So. Can you finish my last puzzle, Neville Frank Longbottom?"

"It was Helena. She stole your diadem by trapping you first. It was a curse item, so she had to win its ownership, didn't she? She locked you here, stole the crown, then told everyone you had died. Did she actually…did she kill you, as well?"

"Oh, well done, boy. You are cleverer than you look. No, she did not kill me. She sought my approval. It was the whole point. It was stupid, and she was wrong, but it's what she thought would work. She brought me the things I needed for months, trying to convince me that I should approve of her, that she was more intelligent than I. But, she underestimated my stubbornness; I never spoke to her again. Then, of course, you know as well as anyone, one cannot live alone forever. It takes a toll on one's soul. I lasted longer than most would. I have never really needed companionship. But, in the end, I stopped eating, largely because I realized that I could come back, and that if I did, I would at least be able to roam the castle, watch it grow and see it become my legacy. So I starved myself. But, when I did come back, I was still trapped. It's a curse. It took me decades to realize, I am trapped until I find a way to break the curse. I have tried many things. There are many who start the quest, but they never finish. There is no promise of treasure. There is no incentive. One has to finish it out of curiosity alone, with no hint of reward. And you must come of your own accord, with no coercion. Otherwise, it will never work. Not many possess the necessary quality. But you, you did. But now…a trade, you see."

"Me. For you."

Rowena simply bowed her head, and the flash in her not-eyes belied that intimidating personality that Neville had read about. Suddenly, like flicking a switch, Neville was very, very afraid.

"Rowena, please. Let me go. I will figure a way to break the curse. We can release you. You don't need to trap me instead. There's no reason to keep me here. Have you any idea what we have all done, my generation? We have really bright, really clever witches and wizards. I'm sure we can do it. We will find a way to free you, and you can live as the patron of your house, like the Baron or Sir Nicholas."

"A century ago, I would have agreed. I sent one like you back up, you see. She promised to help me. Her name was….let me see, Millicent…Bag...? Bagnot…Bagbold? Anyway, it doesn't matter. She never returned. I will not make the same mistake again."

"Rowena."

Both Neville and the ghost whipped their heads to the right. The small voice echoed off the stone of the walls, and the dread that Neville was already feeling intensified more than he thought possible. Because he knew that voice. And he was deeply unhappy that it was here.

"Luna," he whispered. "Luna, run."

"Hush, dear. Let me handle this," Luna's voice turned away from him, and Neville tried not to bristle at the dismissive tone in her voice. He knew her well enough not to trifle with her. He was sure she had a plan.

"Rowena, I am Luna Lovegood. Luna _Allayna Rowena_ Lovegood."

Luna waited from her perch, where Neville could now just barely make her out amongst the din of the stone corridor. He was completely and thoroughly confused, but Luna seemed confident that the information she had just provided was going to make a difference, and he trusted her.

"But…it's not possible."

"It is, you know it is. I should explain though, we are being rude. Neville, darling, I may have forgotten to mention my…er…familial connection to Ravenclaw house. Rowena is a name that has been passed down through generations since your time, Madame, a way of honouring a woman that- at least, was at one time, greatly respected. And Allayna is of course-"

"Helena. The English of Helena."

"My father's great aunt, three generations removed; though of course, she was no longer _Ravenclaw_ by then. I bear the name of my great, great, great, great aunt. My family line descends from your sister, Rosalie. It is a distant connection, to be sure, but technically, we are family."

"I don't see what your goal is, here, girl. Family has never meant much to me. You know that. Should I desire it, you will remain as well."

"There are worse fates than being trapped with the one you love. You may never have learned that, but it does not matter now. The more important fact here, is that you will not be keeping us. Either of us."

Neville tried not to stand agape. He knew there were far more relevant points at hand. Still; had Luna just said…But still. Trapped. Danger. Deal with this later.

"And who will stop me? You? You little girl. You underestimate me. Youth. You cannot comprehend the force of a desire for my freedom, which has been growing for a century and a half. You cannot even appreciate how long that feels."

Luna laughed, but it was an ugly sound. It reminded Neville of her night-time screaming. It held years of pain, grief, fear. It contained all the anger she felt about those who made her feel small. It sounded years older than she was, that of a girl who had survived torture and battle and the death of her mother. It was bitter and angry and terrifying. He knew better than to cross Luna, but the ghost of Rowena Lovegood did not have the benefit of seeing her at war.

"And you- you, the cold hearted shell of a shrew who values only intelligence- you underestimate _me._ Do you really think you will keep me here against my will? Have you any idea what happened the last time someone did that to me? Shall I tell you what _I have survived?_ You think that I am going to let you take my happiness, when I have only just found it?"

Suddenly, the room was filled with lights, dozens of coloured streaks of magic pouring into empty space.

"Now, dear. Now we run."

Luna somehow managed to grab his hand, and was running before Neville was entirely sure what was happening.

"What did you do? Ghosts can't be harmed by spells."

"Banishing charm. Combined with a snare. And an entombing spell. Not strictly legal, that last one, so we should keep it to ourselves, hey?"

"Luna," he was out of breath already, but they were at the stairs, and as he threw himself up, slamming closed the stone door and swinging the bookshelf back into place, Luna standing at his side, collapsing against the wall too.

"Luna," he said again.

"Hm?"

"I love you."

"I know, darling. I love you too. Perhaps no more adventure for a while, though?"

"Possibly never again. You're…a Ravenclaw? Like an actual, bloodline, sharing the genes, Ravenclaw?"

"Well. I mean, technically. Though, we never really talk about it."

"Apparently not. We've been friends for what…a decade, and I never knew? Is that why you could stop her?"

"Maybe. There's also the possibility that you were never really in danger of being trapped. Don't think we need to investigate further though."

"Well, no. How did you know where I was?" He sat down on the ground, still leaning on the shelf, trying to get his breath back. It was possible he was a bit out of shape.

"I wake up, remember? I knew the second you left the bed. I just thought maybe you needed to feel like you were solving…Neville…are you worried you'll get bored? Of me, I mean? Harry said that he thought maybe you were regretting leaving the Aurors. Sorry. This is a ridiculous conversation to be having in the middle of the night after running away from an evil ghost. Don't answer that."

Neville laughed, and pulled Luna into his side.

"Luna Allayna Rowena Lovegood. If I ever get bored living with you, I have done everything I ever needed to do, and I can die a happy man. I _hated_ being an Auror. I was scared. All. The. Time. Please, never _ever_ let me deal with drama or intrigue alone, ever again."

This time, when Luna laughed, it was sparkly and twinkly, made of silver and light. The sound he knew better than most, the sound that had stayed with him all the years he hadn't been near her, the one he heard in his dreams at night, and he hoped to spend the rest of his life engulfed in that sound.

* * *

A decade later, Luna tromped into the cottage from the snowy expanse of the road down the hill from Hogsmeade. It probably hadn't been absolutely necessary to go into the shops today, but she was glad to have the good sausages for Saturday tea. They were so busy during the week that there was rarely meals spent together, and the precious weekend days meant so much to her.

She was met with her huge mug of tea, a fire already roaring. She ripped off her clothes and her wet socks and opened her mouth to ask Neville-

"Before you ask, no, I haven't been in long. Don't worry. I'm sorry I had to go up to the castle on Saturday. Justin is so muddled up with that splicing project, I'm not convinced he isn't going to explode goo all over my green house. But it seems under control for now. How was town?"

"You know, busy. Christmas rush and all. Just need a break. Ta for the tea."

She snuggled down into the big squashy sofa and sighed with contentment as she sipped her tea, perfect as usual, while Neville settled down at her feet. She stared at the side of his head as she half listened to him prattle on about the fifth year independent projects. She admired his slowly aging face, the silver that was etched in the sideburns (getting too long), the lines of happy and of worry that marked his eyes, the slight pudging at his middle from too much butterbeer and too little exercise. He complained of these things all the time, but she seriously loved each part, each thing he saw as a flaw. They were silent, stark reminders of their lives so far; happy moments, laughing far more than was necessary. Not so happy moments where they fought and argued. The times where they didn't do what they were supposed to do (mainly, exercise or eat properly. Occasionally, other inappropriate things in inappropriate places).

It wasn't that she didn't remember the person she was before she and Neville had gotten together for good. She did; that person had travelled and had adventures, and healed a significant amount from old and deep scars. She wouldn't do it differently, but that's because the time had made her the person who could see Neville, stay with him, not run away again.

And their lives were _good_. They were full, but not hectic. Ordered, but disorganized. She was free to be a bit wild; he never reined her in or told her she was being ridiculous. He was free to bring every plant ever known into their lives, free to spend weeks accomplishing not much of anything. They had created exactly what Neville had desperately wanted; a life free from adventure. Utterly- and completely- old and boring. Gloriously dull. Excruciatingly happy. Their students told no stories, not from their current lives. There were whisperings of the past, of course, especially from students whose parents had been in the war, but not much filtered through. By all accounts, they were just _Professors Longbottom and Lovegood._ Dry as paint drying, and worse.

Luna was in heaven.

Realizing that Neville had gone quiet and was watching her, she snapped back to present.

"Lost you there a mo', my LuLovely."

She smiled at him, "I was just thinking. Do you ever remember those people we were, way back when, and wonder if they were actually us?"

"Which people? The exciting ones?"

"Yes. Remember that whole business with Ravenclaw? That was the most boring adventure we had ever been on. What kind of life is that? An evil spirit, setting a puzzle in a centuries old castle, trying to trap us for an eternity, and it didn't even make our top ten. I don't even recognise us in those stories."

"Do you regret it?"

"Not even for a heartbeat. More tea, please, Love. I'm just going to have a quick nap, hm?"

"I'll get tea sorted. Rest easy."

"Always do, my Neville. Always do."

* * *

_Ambuscade: An ambush or snare_


End file.
